Inside
by drunkmarauders
Summary: Arithmancy, Transfiguration, Charms, Potions is not the only thing Hermione Granger thinks about. She's just like any other girl, she fantasizes about a boy. Smut, smutty, smut, smut. Set in Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.
1. Prologue

**Hello! Hippo here, this is my first Harry Potter story, so bear with me.**

Arithmancy, Transfiguration, Charms, Potions is not the only thing Hermione Granger thinks about. She's just like any other girl, she fantasizes about a boy. Smut, smutty, smut, smut.

_**There are two people you'll meet in your life. One will run a finger down the index of who you are and jump straight to the parts of you that peak their interest. The other will take his or her time reading through every one of your chapters and maybe fold corners of you that inspired them most. You will meet these two people; it is a given. It is the third that you'll never see coming. That one person who not only finishes your sentences, but keeps the book. **_

Ronald Weasley trapped her against the narrow staircase. Hermione Granger's eyes dilated in the dark; the light from the moon entered the small opening on the window, illuminating her features. She searched Ron's eyes, completely and utterly bewildered. What were they doing? How did they get there in the first place? She does not remember, for all logic left her nourished brain once he hungrily attacked her lips.

His tongue dominated her mouth; fervently twisting and turning urging her to join—compete. Primal and animalistic groans echoed the halls as Hermione pulled away, gasping for air. "Ron, what—what're you?"

Ron silenced her by cupping her arse and lifting her against the wall. He used his lengthy legs to balance her, while his mouth continued to explore her mouth, jaw, throat—making his way towards her low cut night gown.

Hermione attempted to recollect her thoughts, she questioned herself: What exactly was she doing? With Ron, in the middle of the night? At the Burrow? She scolded herself, someone can catch them, some would—"Ah!" She yelped. Something firm, long perhaps, was poking her flat stomach. Hermione looked down to greet the bulge kissing her stomach.

"Ron..We can't… Not here."

The latter grinned and kissed her nose softly. "Oh barmy, it's not like we've never done this!"

"Well, last time, we almost got caught." Hermione, painstakingly attempted to dislodge herself from Ron's tight grip. The latter, slapped her bum to stop her.

"Hush, sweetheart." Ron resumed his earlier duties, he assaulted her neck and teased the top of her breasts. Hermione moaned at his administrations; eager for more, she held the back of his neck and pulled him into her body.

Without warning, Ron snaked his hand into her heated core and rubbed her wet slit. "Tell me…" He groaned, loving when she begged…Savagely, he thrusted a long experienced finger into her. "Hermione, tell me what you want, what I wanna hear, love."

"My King!" Hermione became a mass of incoherent mess, moaning—trying to stifle her moans and fractions of Ron's name. "My king!" She whispered in a sort of hushed scream. Another finger was added, Ron kissed her, dictated her mouth, cupped her breast, forced her to scream his name in euphoria.

"I'm almost, I'm almost there…" She encouraged his speed by pouncing her hips into his waiting fingers. But Ron, abruptly withdrew his fingers and dropped on his knees. His calloused hands held her waist steady, then, much to Hermione's annoyance, Weasley meticulously lifted her night gown before he ravished her dripping center. He licked her expertly, knowing the spots and slits to give attention, his tongue caved in and drew lazy circles. Hermione cried at his assault, she wanted to scream, shout, take pride in this activity; she was burning, she was on fire.

"Ah, please, I'm—ahhh."

Hermione woke with a jolt, her body was shaking in a mixture of fear and excitement. Her felt the wetness between her legs. Ashamed, the brightest witch hid her face on her palms. This has gone too far—this situation with Ronald Weasley. Ever since the latter announced his relationship with Lavender Brown, she converted into a jealous, lust-driven—mad woman. Every time Brown and Weasley acted on their heightened emotions, snogging and moaning in the common room, she'd rage in repulsion, completely disgusted that her best friend was kissing that snobby second class wizard! Yet, there's another part of Hermione: it was birthed in jealously until turning into attraction and lust, until she admitted she wanted that, the snogging, with Ron. Logic and arithmancy served no purpose when it comes to the matters of emotions, for years she neglected the budding feeling she had for Ron, but now, it was burning, aching… Her body carved his touch, his being, his soul—him.

**Author's Note: This is only the prologue. Please review if you want me to continue!**


	2. Fire

**Hello! I did not expect so many reviews just in one day. I'm speechless… Thank you all so much, for the support and encouragement! Made my day :) I don't know where I'm going with this story, tbh, I just wrote it in the heat of the moment, so if you have any suggestions or anything, do tell!**

**Btw, I don't have a Beta, so please, excuse my grammatical mistakes, but feel free to point out the errors, I love constructive criticism. **

**Anyways! Here's chapter one…**

_**You're gonna miss me by my hair,**_

_**You're gonna miss me everywhere, oh**_

_**You're gonna miss me when I'm gone**_

Hermione sat alone in the Great Hall playing with her breakfast as she pretended to review for an upcoming Potions exam. She wondered idly how Harry has surpassed her in that particular subject. Not that she's jealous or anything—jealousy is not in her book. Yet, the brushy-brown haired witch, pulled a face in disgust as she watched Lavender Brown cling onto Ron's muscular arms. Quidditch arms; broad shoulders that became muscular after each Quidditch practice. What wizard in the right mind would possible be fond of a needy, inadequate witch? Oh, indeed, Ronald Weasley. A dense, lanky ginger haired boy who is completely oblivious to her. And what did she see in Ron Weasley anyways? Firstly, he competed with Malfoy in making her first year at Hogwarts miserable my constantly calling her derogatory terms; insulting her—but atleast he never called her a Mudblood. Which leads to secondly, they argued and fought on a daily basis, the playful teasing would turn into light banter, then explode into a zealous war. Then thirdly, Harry would eventually reunite them; this act of reunification has caused her to question her friendship with Ron, numerous times. Maybe without Harry they would remain strangers: he'd still be that pompous, short tempered blue eyed eleven year old who despised a brown haired muggle. Maybe, possibly. But there's a possibility that they could have nurtured a friendship with Harry; sure, it would be fragile and Hermione would have to put her best effort in tending it, because, clearly, Ron means a great amount to her.

She's realized that it's no longer friendship she sought—actually, she's known for a while now, years perhaps, yet she adamantly denied it. Hermione Jean Granger yearns a relationship, she yearns for Ron to complete and demolish the aching feeling in her chest. She yearns he end her miserable state of loneliness, jealous, need—lust. She yearned for him to realize, realize, realize—to finally _see_, her.

There's been a small seed planted in her head, logic be damned. This seed calls for attention wanting to be nurtured by her fantasies. This seed made her believe things, see more in ordinary conversations, it encouraged her to read into his words and cheered her to subtle flatten her hair, chew her lip, act utterly—er, love-struck when he's in the vicinity. It infected her heart, her system, and destroyed the rationality.

"Hex them already, won't you?" Harry flashed a small grin as he sat down the long oak table. He moved her books and helped himself with a goblet of pumpkin juice. "Honestly, Hermione, you and Ron should make up. He's nearly failing half of his classes."

"That has nothing to do with me. Lavender can help him." She replied scornfully.

"The only help she can give him is providing him remedy for his heart."

"Sorry?" Hermione eyed Harry with a bemused expression.

"Ah, nothing. Let's get to Potions, don't wanna be late for Snapes class!"

Although they could never escape him, Hermione and Harry sat in their regular seats at the back, far from Snape's reach. Snape silenced the class and provided instructions for the day's Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson.

"Today we will continue learning about the Imperius Curse and I require an essay to be handed in at the end of the week." The class erupted into a fir of groans and complaints, but Snape remained stoic, in fact, he enjoyed their torment. Suddenly the aged door open to reveal Ron and Lavander unsubtly sneaking into class. "Weasley, Brown, pleasure. Late again aren't you? Must I repeat my rules once more?" Snape grimaced as is eyes scanned the duo, they looked ravished—crinkled robes and untidy hair. Hermione mimicked her teacher's expression; rage. "Ten points from Gryffindor and please, resume your _activities_ after school hours."

Snape turned abruptly and called for attention. He began the day's lecture.

Much to Hermione's annoyance, Lavender Brown was giggling two seats behind her. 'Oh Ron… My Ronnie, oh Ron.'

"Replusive." The brightest with made a gagging sound, she was utterly offended by the sound of her high pitched voice. "I should have hex them when I had the chance. I don't understand Harry, I cannot comprehend why he chose to be with her, out of all the girls at Hogwarts, _her_." Hermione could not help the animosity that dripped within her voice. Hermione acknowledged that Lavender is an exquisite beauty, kind and friendly, yet somewhat materialistic and ignorant to truly important matters.

Harry, inexperience in this area of expertise wished to summon Ginny, but nevertheless, took a brave stab. "Talk to him. Ron, he's a bit lost. I figured that he's with her because someone finally found him interesting. She, Lavender actually made the effort to be with him. And yes, it's a bit obvious he's not as involved in, er, the relationship as she is—it's because clearly Ron, he's found someone else interesting."

"Who maybe this be?"

Harry shook his head and sighed. "You and Ron are much more alike than you think."

"You can't possibly believe that—he?" Harry nodded. "But, then, why is he with her?"

"Many reasons, though not very rational: attention. She's filling the spaces you're not." Harry chose to be frank. Clearly, his two best friends, stubborn and prideful, would be too arrogant to admit anything. They needed a catalyst, a push…

Hermione wanted to cry, run out of class and scream at anyone, anything, yet she forced herself to remain composed. She attempted to recollect her thoughts and focus on the assignment at hand, but she couldn't. She was frustrated—at Ron, at herself, for being so damn ignorant. Why? She questioned again and again: why? Would there ever be an answer to why she was foolishly in love with that ginger oaf? _In love_, yes, indeed, she admitted.

"And isn't that why you went to Yule Ball with Viktor Krum? Same thing, Hermione." Harry sympathetically patted her back.

"I'm furious. He should have asked me, he should have chased after me, Harry!" Hermione hissed violently as she starred at the blank parchment. Harry remained silent, afraid to rile her up.

"Potter, Granger! Pay attention if you want to pass my class." Snape yelled across the room, compelling Harry to withdraw his comforting hands from Hermione's back.

Hermione, as if it was protocol, robotically began taking notes and urged Harry to do the same.

Quarter to an hour and after a more than half an hour of battling a debate with her yearning heart and logical brain, Hermione turned to catch a glimpse of Ron.

Lavender was lazily playing with the tips of her quill, but he was looking at her.

_He was looking at her. He was looking at her!_

A small smile escaped her lips as he held her brown eyes captive. To some extend she wanted to believe he's silently communicating with her through a simple, un-adultered glance. But there was fire in his eyes, longing… Could be possibly miss her too? She felt her eyes burning, but she refused to be overcome with emotions, she refused to let tear drops fall—it was completely pointless and outright senseless.

He flashed her a fleeting smile, not full reaching his eyes; he smiled in defeat, clearly dispassionate, she assumed.

But she was wrong, oh how wrong she was.

Ron Weasley has been curiously observing the duo from a vantage point, and while he knew Harry only felt sibling-like feelings for Hermione, jealously stirred him.

Truthfully, he's missed Hermione. She wears the scent of books and parchment, probably because of her attachment to her "valuable" things. She smiled at him and opened his book, opened him, knew him… Knew him through the trivial arguments, knew his language: the way he insecurely strutted next to Harry, the way he unconfidently played Quidditch. He knew she never missed these small details about him because she'd subtle incorporate it in their conversations, masking the compliment as a casual tease. But he knew, she knew. And yet they were still here, unmoving, with no progress.

Lavender poked him, however he refused to give her attention. They were unhappy. He was unhappy, yet she was still trying to win his affections. Couldn't he give her a chivalrous attempt to actually try to like her? Ron Weasley felt ashamed of his actions. He should not be doing this to Lavender Brown. But he recalls the harsh remarks Hermione has yelled throughout the past few months, he remembers the owl posts that laid in the common room—signed to Krum, and ultimately, he will never ever forget that heart wrenching moment when he discovered she's kissed Viktor. No, he needed her to feel this aching pain of betrayal, then, maybe he will be satisfied.

"Hi." He mouthed towards her direction, causing her to crumble. The thick mask, the façade of strength and indignation shattered the mounted hatred she harbored for him.

She nodded, dazed.

And suddenly, the rest of the class vanished. The sea of bodies flooded the halls, eager to escape Snape—who, in fact had disappeared as well. Lavender Brown's clingy fingers left Ron's arms, _Quidditch arms! _And was compelled to leave, by no doubt, Harry.

Empowered, Hermione rose from her seat and slowly approached his desk. She smoothed the back of her skirt and nervously played with its hem. She has always been fiercely outspoken, however, when it comes to confronting Ron, she turns into a puddle of nervousness.

She reached the desk that separated their heated bodies. "How are you?"

"Alright. You?"

"Alright." Silence engulfed them, as the minutes danced away Hermione's irritation grew. He obvious was not keen to continue their short-lived conversation, therefore, she made the move to turn away. She retreated to her desk and collected her heavy books, but before she had the chance to escape Ron's infuriating presences, she was encircled two lean arms.

"I miss you, Hermione…I do..I'm just so—" Ron failed to finish his sentence as he turned Hermione to face him. "I miss you, I really do and I have nothing to say for everything that's happened. I don't even know how to broach this… I just wish were okay, y'know?"

"Me too, Ron." She sighed, defeated. "What should we do now? I can't, it's so…" Hermione struggled to find an adequate word. "repulsive to watch you and Lavender snog, all the time, all the time Ron." _She's a hinderance to our friendship!_ Hermione wanted to say.

"Are you telling me to break up with her?"

"What? No! Of course not, I'd never encourage you to do such thing!" She denied too quickly.

"Then what? How can we repair our friendship? It's obviously too nauseating for you to see me with Lavender." Hermione held her tongue, she foolishly hoped that he would leave Lavender for her sake, she foolishly hoped he'd leave the blonde to repair their friendship—to fill the absence in her heart. "I wouldn't know what to do unless you tell me." Ron smiled expectantly; he was so used to Hermione taking charge and giving orders…Once the freedom of choice was rewarded to him, he's incapable of making a decision.

"Kiss me instead!" She cried and closed her eyes in fear of witnessing his reaction.

"Kiss you?" Ron repeated with a bemused expression, yet Hermione swore she could detect a teasing tone on his voice.

Hermione opened her eyes hesitantly and looked up at Ron. He superiorly towered over her small frame; his arms that once encircled her upper body snaked down to her waist. His shoulders were broad and defiant, begging for attention… But it was his lips that she was attracted to.

"You mean like this?" Ron snooped down and spared her a feather-like kiss on the temple. He continued to paint her face with small, light kiss : on her forehead, her perfect nose, each freckle on her cheek… But he avoided her plum, awaiting lips. "Like that?"

Hermione whimpered in response, his touch was enough to send her to a heavenly grave. His kisses sparked fire in her body and she was burning, burning with need. Shamelessly, Hermione inched forward and begged for his lips. "Kiss me, here."

He kissed her innocently—almost childlike; Ron planted a small kiss on her lips. However, before the Quidditch Keeper pulled away, Hermione boldly held onto his neck and pulled him into a deep, eager kiss.

Open mouthed. She waited no time to play safely in this foreign territory. Hermione Jean Granger was tired of that, she was completely tired of logic and pride and arithmacy controlling her decisions. No, she wanted to prove that she was something—that she means something to him. She impatiently met his tongue in a dance, drowning his thoughts, pleading that he played by her rules.

Applying what she's seen in her dreams, Hermione's delicate hands wandered away from Ron's hair and down his body. Her body was shaking in anticipation as Ron shammed her against the desk. Her hands happily unbuttoned his robes and sought the flesh underneath. She rubbed his back lazily, much different from the way their kisses took over their bodies. She moaned as his touch, his kisses became urgent; his tongue competed with her's.

She removed his undershirt and lustfully scanned his body. _Arms! Quidditch Arms!_ She sighed happily as she met his flat abdomens and heaving chest.

Ron smiled wolfishly, grabbed her arse, and placed her on the desk. He pushed her body down so she could lay on top of the desk while her legs hang down. Ron hovered over her and resumed his administrations; he left a trail of wet kisses on her throat, collarbones, shoulder as he dipped lower and lower, unbuttoning her shirt and greeting her plum breasts. Ron kneaded her perfectly round mounts over her white lace bra. _White! How ironic!_

Hermione bit her lips to stop herself from screaming his name, but it proved to be difficult as Ron raised her bra and doggedly licked her erected nipples. "Ah, Ron…Ron! Please, ahh." Ron continued his assault, licking, nipping, and sucking her breasts. His hands drove further down, tracing the contours of her body. Ron's hands reached the hem of her skirt.

He finished attacking her now goose bump filled chest and kneeled down to face her aroused center. The smell of her heated core was intoxicating; Hermione propped herself up to see Ron's itching fingers make its way toward her skirt. He lifted up the constricting cloth and pulled her panties down. He inhaled her scent and smiled at her, as if to ask permission. Hermione smiled and reached for his shoulders…urging him.

Ron groped her hips and brought her against is unshaven face. His scruffy beard tickled her inner thighs, Hermione found that rather endearing. Ron wasted no time devouring the fluids that ran down her slit. He whispered her name, whispered hot, hot words as he divulged his tongue in and out of her core.

"Ahhh, Ron, please,-fast—faster." Ron made a ruffling sound and withdrew his tongue from her core, leaving her unfinished. He stood up to straddle her, his hard, firm bulge teasing her stomach. Ron kissed her, giving Hermione a taste of herself.

As he kissed her, his fingers found her clit and slowly, ever so slowy, painstakingly slow, he rubbed small circles.

Moans escaped her lips once more, she grabbed onto his arms latched onto him.

"Ah, uh, Hermiooone.. .Granger…"

"Granger!" Snape's voice loudly echoed the room and snapped her from her trance. "Are you done unwisely dazing around?" The Dark Art's teacher voice dripped with venom as his supercilious eyes penetrated her own.

"I'm sorry, sir." She bowed down lowly as Snape called his next victim.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Harry whispered.

"Fine." She nodded curtly.

"Are you sure?"

"Not really, but I will be." Hermione squirmed in seat, uncomfortable with the heat burning across her back and thighs. She closed her legs tightly and begged for dismissal.

She's not only dreaming about Ron in her sleep, but now she was fantasizing about him—in class! This was completely impossible, inane! Irrational! Someone must have slipped her a potion of some sort or hexed her or something; this was not funny, not at all…

**Please review! I really want feedback! It helps a lot!**

**Thank you x**


	3. Midnight Snack

**Hi! Hippo's back, sorry for the late update, but I don't think I'll be able to update weekly. I'm gonna start drowning in school work + midterms. Forgive me, loves! **

**But to reimburse myself, this chapter is longer than the rest!**

**THANK YOU, thank you, thank you to all those who reviewed, favorited, and followed! It makes my heart skip a beat, it means so much!**

**I'm not sure with this chapter… But, here goes nothing.**

"_**There was no possibility of taking a walk that day"**_

Ron Weasley inspected the third floor corridors of the Gryffindor Towers with Lavander Brown irritatingly attached to his arm. She refused to let him parole the halls alone. Ron Weasley was beyond himself, no, he wasn't himself when he decided to snog Lavender Brown. That was a complete arse version of Ronald Weasley who was adrenaline filled, thick headed, stubborn, arrogant, Ronald Weasley who was the star of a Quidditch match. Him, not his famous best friend, Harry Potter, but him, tall, ginger-haired Ron. He kissed her because it felt nice to be acknowledge; for once, he got the attention he craved throughout the years. The comfort, the reassuring words Lavender whispered to him those first few days was so promising, he allowed himself to be consumed by false possibilities. But the spell was non-binding, it quickly wore off, like sand slipping through his fingers.

For one, she did not argue with him. Two, she didn't talk, well she stopped trying to converse once she realized Ron was clearly in love with someone else—all she wanted to do was snog. But there was an anchor clinging onto his brain; a prophecy of some sort: Maybe Lavander Brown was snogging him to get his attention, to see, notice, acknowledged—by him. Maybe she was lonely… Ron admits, although Lavender pegs to be _"that"_ stereotypical girl in school, he was sure, she was more than _that_.

Well, Merlin. He was the parallel. Weren't they somewhat the same?

His mind diffed back to Hermione, as it's been these past few weeks. He missed her. There were no words to describe the aching, void gap in his chest. (As chessy as that sounds!)

He blamed himself, blamed his insecurities, for they planted seeds onto his brain and manipulated him into believing that he was a worthless git. Therefore, when Brown took the role of "girlfriend" in his life, he welcomed it. Because, then, he's proved something: someone's capable of loving him.

Only it wasn't Hermione.

He sighed and turned left, passing a row of sleeping portraits. Prefect duty wasn't wearing him down, nor was it the demanding Quidditch practices. It could have possibly been the guilt of string Lavander in his mass of chaotic and complicated feelings.

And of course, Hermione.

Ron shuffled his feet uncomfortably; Lavender dragged him between two silver armors. _Here it comes_, Ron closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable contact of their lips. Her lips were wet and sloppy, she demanded his tongue and lead him into her cave. Should he stop being a prick and just shut it? He's a fine lad anyways, hormonal and a teenager! It should feel right, only it didn't. He wasn't in it anymore, yet he did not refuse.

"Men." Ron heard a severe cough and footsteps along the corridors. He pushed Lavender aside and searched the hall. Hermione was walking briskly toward the end of the corridor.

"Mione!" He yelled, but she ignored his pleading call. Without thinking, or even remembering that Lavender was beside him (or the fact that she existed) he broke into a sprint and chased after her. He dashed across the line of snoring paints; some awoke and glared at him, but he did not give a damn at the moment. All that mattered is the finish line, _Hermione_.

"Hermione!" He caught her elbow and panted. Ron held her at arm's length and tried to regain his breathe.

"Be quiet will you Ronald? Prefects are supposed to be on examining the halls, not running around yelling." She said with a tone of superiority, much like Professor McGonagall. Sometimes Ron wondered if Hermione simply idolized or if she was merely following the rules. "Or kissing." She added and looked behind him.

"Wonnie! Why'd you run off?" Lavender reclaimed his hands and held it tightly, as if she needed to illustrate this trivial endearment to Hermione.

"Er—." Lavender and Hermione waited for his answer, hands on their hips: the battle stance of an angry woman. "I—I needed a word with Hermione…About prefect duties." He lied.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, quizzically. "Yes?"

He turned to Lavender and disembarked his clammy fingers from her hands. "It's prefect duties Lav, (Hermione cringed at this nickname) just go back to the common room, don't wait for me, and go to bed."

"But, Won Won!" She cried, looking appalled that her boyfriend was dismissing her to be with—well, his bestfriend. But she wasn't stupid, _she knows, she's known_. "I'll wait for you! Surely, it won't take long, will it Hermione?" Lavender turned her gaze and questioned the bushy haired girl.

"Uhm, you can wait if you'd like, though, Ron—"

"Lavender, go to bed." Ron said, finality evident in his voice.

"Fine." Lavender scoffed dejectedly, yet walked away unwillingly.

Ron waited until Lavender was completely out of sight before turning his attention to Hermione. She had her hands on her hips and head raised defiantly. Ron broke into a genuine smile. "Ello."

"What's this prefect meeting you conjured? I've heard nothing about it, it's clearly false. Why did you have to chase Lavender away? Oh god, Ronald, something—I swear, you are so dense. She was clearly upset and she wanted to—to" Hermione hesitated. She and Lavender have always been civil, of course their friendship fell in line with animosity and secret annoyance, but they were both women. She did not want to be suspicioned as a scarlet woman or anything of that sort! "So, what? What do you want?"

Obviously irritated, perhaps, she's been stressed with classes and prefect duties, Ron concluded, so he blurted, "I wanted to be with you."

The confidence in his voice, the determination in his eyes, the way he towered over her—his height clearly superior, it made her knees weak; she has speechless, unable to respond to his daring statement. "Sorry?" Hermione cringed as she heard her voice softly echo the room.

"I—er, well, we never talk anymore, Hermione. Not much, really." Ron rubbed his neck nervously; he felt heat crawling over his ears and onto his face. "I, I miss you, alright?"

"Oh."

_I miss you, I miss you, I miss you, I miss you! _Her brain reiterated those three words like a mantra, like an ancient spell she needed to memorize, for it would keep her sane. _I miss you!_

"You miss me?"

"Yes." Ron resumed shuffling his feet as the silence wrapped around them like a warm blanket. It was comfortable; they were both letting drinking in the words they heard or just said. _I miss you. _Ron reflected on his sudden bold courage and he suddenly recalled fourth year: asking Fleur to be his date at the Yule Ball. What a ludicrous mistake! He mentally scowled himself, because, for one, that was also a moment of bold courage that ended in embarrassment. With this disconcerting memory, Ron soon felt uncomfortable as he waited for Hermione's reply. What was she going to say anyway? He's such a stupid git… Hurry! _Think of something… Food!_

"I'm hungry, I'm going down to the kitchen. Would you like to join me?"

Suddenly, Hermione jumped back to her usual self—earlier comments left untouched, earlier comments left to analysis later, comments left to question later… "Ron! You can't go to the kitchens! It's already late! You'll disturb them! They're already serving us—the entire school—everyday!"

"Relax! Honestly, woman, I know. _Wouldn't you think I know?_ I'm going to cook."

"What?"

"Er—I was going to cook, don't wanna disturb them and all…"

"You were going to cook?" She wore a bemused expression.

"_Always the tone of surprise._ I've been watching mum, she's taught me a few things." Ron said defensively, crossing his arms and frowning playfully.

"Like what? Eggs?" Hermione choked a chuckle down, but the corner of her lips lifted unwillingly. It's Ron. And Her. It's Ron and Hermione…Again. She's missed _this_.

"Well, depends, how do you like your eggs?" Ron questioned with a mischievous grin. (And did he just wink?)

Hermione had to thinking about his remark before it finally clicked. "Oh, honestly, Ron! You—you, big headed oaf!" She slapped his arm—quidditch arms!—and began to laugh wholeheartedly.

"Well?" He smiled and led her to the kitchens.

"Scrambled. I hate it when the white isn't thoroughly cooked."

"I know." He muttered.

"Do you? How?" She asked as they reached the fruit bowl painting and Ron tickled the apple green pear.

"Mum always makes it sunny side up but you never eat it. Then, that one time, in Grimmauld, you made breakfast for Harry and I, you scrambled the eggs." Ron recalled the memory; it was the summer going to fifth year, they have been stationed at Grimmauld, Sirius' parent's house, by the Order of the Phoenix. It was worrisome; they were imprisoned in the cold, dark house, haunted by their fears and the terror that was to come…But, one thing was rewarding, Ron was accompanied by Harry and Hermione all summer.

They had stayed up all night, discussing their plans and the school year ahead of them. Ron and Harry placed a few rounds of chess until the latter bowed and defeat; Hermione was immersed into book, which no doubt was her favorite pastime: _Hogwarts, A History._ Dawn greeted them as soft light rays entered the few barely ajar windows and Ron, once again, checkmated Harry. Hermione suggested making breakfast for the trio before redeeming their lost sleep.

A fine memory it was…

Ron recalled Hermione sporting a striped shirt and loose pajamas, her hair was in a bun, soft, curls cascading down her shoulder. Hermione prepared the eggs: cracking it onto a bowl, beating it, adding salt, heating the pan. It was very domestic. As if Hermione just woke up in his arms, offered, kissed him softly before starting the day. What a fine, fine way to start a day.

Then she began singing a song he's never heard. It must be muggle music he reckon. It was a beautiful melody though and she sang the chorus gracefully, hummed the verses she didn't know.

Ron watched her in fascination, unaware of the teasing smile that crept up in Harry's face. "Almost ready!" Hermione bustled the pans for a few more minutes and presented a simple breakfast: scrambled eggs and toast.

"It's because of my grandma. She used to come over every Sunday and make breakfast." Hermione paused, thinking whether she should continue. "After my grandfather passed away…We asked her to live with us, but, grandma, being strong and fiercely independent refused and…" Ron studied her, her tears begged to be release causing her eyes be blood shot.

"You don't have to explain, Hermione." Ron reached for her arm and called for attention. He flashed her a small, comforting smile. "Come on, what would you like for a midnight snack?"

Hermione shrugged and followed run into the kitchen. His hands, once position on her arms drifted downward and onto her cold fingers.

_Ron's holding my hand! He's holding my hand! _

"Sit." He pushed her down a stool adjacent to the kitchen fire and began rummaging the cupboards and drawers for ingredients and tools. Ron admitted, he's pretty fucking mediocre at many things; he has five brothers and has Harry Potter as a best friend, but he's just a boy, and he concluded that illustrating no special ability at the moment was acceptable. But if he had to gloat, he'd impudently declare that he's a pretty damn fan-fucking-tastic cook. (Thanks to Mum!)

"Uhm, Sir?" A house-elf slowly approached them. "Anything I can do for you, Sir? Anything?"

"No, no. Sorry to disturb you. I'm making something for this perfect prefect. She's been working hard." Ron sheepishly grinned at the elf. "Do you know where the vegetables and eggs are?"

"Yes, sir! I'll bring them right away! Sir!" The elf turned excitedly, but Ron stopped him before he disappeared further into the room.

"No, it's fine, I'd prefer if you show me."

"But, sir!" The elf looked at Ron, then at Hermione, questioningly.

"I reckon you do what he say, he's a stubborn one, that one." Hermione approached the elf and patted her reassuring.

The elf agreed and toured Ron around the kitchen.

Hermione smiled tenderly as she observed Ron humoring the elf from across the room. She allowed herself to let go, let go, let go, of the resilient wall she build along her heart. Hermione indulged herself into destroying the boundaries she built for her sake, the sake of sanity. In the end, she would get hurt, no matter how hard she tried not to be, because Ron already has her heart. He's had it since she laid eyes on the dirt on his nose, he had it even when they bickered, he had it when he blamed Crookshanks for the false death of Scabbers; he's held it even when he dismissed her at Yule ball, and even in recent events—the fact that he is with Lavender did not spare her aching heart. He's had it since, he has it now, and he'll always have it.

"Abusing our prefect abilities aren't we? I'm surprise you haven't adamantly protested." Ron returned with a basket of eggs and vegetables while elf stood behind him with cutlery.

She grinned. "Well, when it comes to food…" _And your company._

"Never knew you enjoyed it so much, as Ginny says, aren't we always bickering?" Hemione stared bewildered, unaware she spoke aloud.

Ron shook his head affectionately, dismissed the elf and summoned the vegetables on a cutting board. He took out his wand and motioned it to beat a handful of eggs.

Hermione watched him carefully. Ron Weasley was not graceful at many things (he blames it at height), but he looked so natural, so elegant in the kitchen. His biceps flex as he chopped the green onions, his red hair, so vibrant and alluring hung allow shielding his eyes as he focused on the task at hand. He cut the vegetables fast and effortlessly, yet flawlessly.

Hermione Jean Granger was swooning at the very sight of a domestic Ronald Weasley.

"Almost done, I just need the toast." Ron looked up as he began frying the eggs over the fire and found Hermione gazing longingly. (It was either for the food or him. Food, he assumed.)

"Hmm." Hermione licked her lips hungrily. This did not escape Ron. Her bit onto her bottom lip, suppressing a well-deserved groan.

"Tada! Here's the finish product." Ron inhaled the scent of freshly made omelets and toast before presenting it to Hermione. He ushered her onto the oak tables and loaded her plate.

"This is really good! You weren't lying, Ronald!" Hermione moaned at the first bite.

"Would I ever?" He wore a hurt expression. "Didn't think you thought that low of me 'Mione."

"It's just unexpected that's all." Hermione took a sip of pumpkin juice and watched Ron wolf down his plate_. Somethings never changed_; she shook her head affectionately. She hoped, prayed this would never change: that they continue to bicker like a married couple, challenge each other, bring out the best and face the worst…together.

"Again with the tone of surprise." Ron leaned back, satisfied. Hermione faced him and resumed eating. They faded back into light banter, discussing the past few weeks without each other's company. There was no resentment in Hermione's part, for she knew Ron and understood his iane actions with Lavender. As for the latter, Ron's guilt was consuming him. He could not deal with Lavender claim the title as his girlfriend, it did not, or will it ever truly belong to her…

"Ron, I—are, are you happy though?" Hermione needed to know, her heart begged for an answer, she needed him to put her out of misery.

"I'm happy I have you and Harry, after all that's happened throughout the years, I'm grateful for that." Ron declared. "But, if you're asking about Lavender…"

She searched his eyes, the dark blue hue held her gaze captive. The fire from the corner of the room delineated his features as his lips curled into a small sarcastic smile.

"Then, I'm not."

Hermione nodded at this confession, then, with all the dignity she had left, asked, "Then, why are you still with her?"

"That will remain unanswered, for now."

Hermione crossed her arms and scowled, muttering something across the lines, "stubborn, hateful prat."

Ron drowned in her features. The brushy brown hair—truly Hermione's—flew over her face, hiding parts of her ears and shaping her face. Her nose was prime and straight, even a few freckles lay scattered along her cheeks. Brown eyes, filled with wisdom and eagerness to see the world. Her lips were small and plum (it's currently straight, but there was a trace of a fleeting smile.)

With newfound bravery, Ron reached forward and grazed his thumb over her lips to remove the remains of their late dinner.

Hermione gasped at the unexpected contact. Ron was inches from her face, she felt his breath on her skin, his calloused fingers on her face. She wanted to scream, shout, cry, what the hell was he doing?

But she remained silent, like a prey wanting to be attacked. She gazed into his eyes, daring him to do something, anything!

"You had a—a little something." He whispered longingly. Ron did not remove his fingers from her face nor did he return to his seat, he stayed rooted to his spot, inches, a kiss away from her…

Hermione subtly tilted her head wearing a look of defiance. Her eyes penetrated into his soul, wishing, beseeching him to bring her into contentment.

Maybe it was the challenging stare, the obvious need in her eyes, or maybe it was because he's loved that girl ever since she told him off, he doesn't know nor does he give a damn about anything, all he knew is that wanted her, every part, every fiber, everything, simply put it, he loved her.

Draping his hands onto her chin and into her hair; pulling the base of neck onto his face… He looked into her eyes as if they were communicating. He's surrendered.

He kissed her.

He kissed her gently but fervently. He whispered all his feelings, pleaded her to understand all his actions in the kiss; it was a slow, unhurried kiss, so worthy and beautiful and everything she wanted it to be that it burned her entire body, threating to consume her…

Hermione grabbed onto his shoulders and snaked her hand into his ruffled hair. She deepened the kiss, needing him to know—to know it's always been him! She hesitantly opened her mouth and darted her tongue on his lips, urging him to open up, to dance with her. It was messy, for she was yearning more…

The kiss, feigning innocence, abruptly turned into the most mind-blowing kiss Ron Weasley ever had.

"Hermione Granger." He moaned.

**Indeed, that was all real. No more dream sequences. Confirmative: Ron did kiss Hermione. It was all real ya'll. Ugh. My feels. I was getting attacked by feels as I wrote this. Romione is my otp, I don't understand how other people don't ship them. They are perfection.**

**BUT, just to throw it out there, I'm a huge jily shipper as well. Ugh, my otps are killing me with the feels.**

**So yes, I'm still unsure where I'm going with this story. It'll be about five to ten (?) chapters long, more or less. PLEASE, PLEASE, provide some feedback! Review review review! It helps with inspiration. ****Also, it would mean so much if you shared this story! **

**Thank you! **

Have a lovely day x

PS please review! ;)


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